


The Thirteenth Captain

by tatsuhiro



Category: Bleach, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 08:08:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17179121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatsuhiro/pseuds/tatsuhiro
Summary: What if Ukitake Juushiro was killed during the Winter War and was reborn? How would he handle his new life? Idea adopted from Mitsukini Haninozuka (fanfiction.net).





	1. This Is NOT The Last Place I Remember Being...

**Author's Note:**

> This story is adopted from Mitsukini Haninozuka from fanfiction.net. They adopted it from TheBlackSeaReaper before losing interest in the fandom. I have since changed a lot and would greatly appreciate feedback. I am unsure where I will take this story, but I plan to at least get through edits for the chapters that already exist.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dead person dies...and then wakes up.
> 
> Jūshiro was confused that he still existed. Dying is somewhat difficult to mistake (especially with his experience) and he could have sworn that he was fatally injured while he was far from medical help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this is not an original idea. I adopted this from Mitsukini Haninozuka who in turn got it from TheBlackSeaReaper. This is my first story, as well, so any feedback would be very much appreciated. Let me know what you think, please!

### 

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The last thing that Jūshiro Ukitake remembered was pain. He had been half-heartedly fighting the child Arrancar, the companion of the Primera Espada Starrk, before she had transformed into a weapon in a manner not unlike a Shinigami’s zanpakutō. He hated seeing children on the battlefield, but they were enemies and she had made her choice. Not that he wouldn’t still offer her an out if he could, but her temperament made that unlikely. It was too bad, he liked her fire and he could tell that his friend Shunsui liked what he saw of the Primera as well. However, as followers of the traitorous captain, Sōsuke Aizen, this Starrk and his companion could not be allowed to live. Watching Shunsui’s battle, he was pleased to see him relatively unhurt and fairing well against the espada.

As he looked on, the battle seemed to draw to a close, Shunsui preparing to give the finishing blow to Starrk. As it landed, however, Jūshiro realized something was wrong. Then the pain hit. Looking down, Jushiro felt a flash of surprise as he saw the blade of Sōsuke Aizen piercing his heart. He had just enough time to look up at his friend when darkness took over.

The next thing that Jūshiro was aware of was being carried by a giant man, one that was as big or even bigger than Zaraki, and who was driving a flying contraption. Jūshiro believed it was called a motorcycle, but he had thought it a ground-bound vehicle. Confused at how he had appeared here (wherever here was), he tried to move his head to look around. He was concerned to find it very difficult – in fact his entire body was weak and not responding to his attempts. Careful experimentation led him to one conclusion: he was in an infant's body. Shuddering as he reached that conclusion, he despaired, for he knew that he had been reincarnated. His sadness was for the fact that he would probably never see his best friend, Shunsui Kyouraku, and his division in the Seireitei ever again. Even if he did, they would not recognize him.

Suddenly, a more positive thought occurred to him: he was in a new body! That meant that he wouldn't have his illness anymore! It had plagued him for his entire life as a Shinigami, a life that had stretched millennia. The foremost healer in Soul Society, Captain Unohana hadn't been able to get rid of it, only tentatively identify it as something similar to a human disease called tuberculosis. Nothing she had tried worked, and the human remedies didn't translate well to a spirit's body.

While thinking on this, Jūshiro realized that he was in a very strange situation. He was thinking, and he was aware. Not that it was a bad thing, but he knew he had died. He was beyond grateful for a second chance at life as isolated as he would likely be, but the fact of his death remained unchanged. He should not have been self-aware at his current physical age, nor should he have retained his memories. Millennia of records and belief in the Soul Society said that souls that joined the cycle after death were wiped clean and thus were blanks slates. His existence was an anomaly, he shouldn't remember his life. Still, he did, and he would make the most of it.

Perhaps, he would be able to rejoin his division after his next life ended – even if he had to rejoin the Academy and work his way up from the bottom. However, that was (hopefully) a long way off, given that he was alive at present and still a very young child. It also didn't answer a very important question: why could he remember his past life? All of his knowledge gathered in the millennia of his existence said it wasn't possible. But here he was: alive, with memories and without any reason why.

Soon, it became too much for him to deal with and with the gentle rocking, he quickly fell asleep.

\----------------------

It had been ten years since that night. Whoever that giant man had been, he had left Jūshiro with a family, presumably in hopes that they would raise him. Unfortunately for Jūshiro, his first introduction to his new “family” had been the scream of his Aunt when she found him on her doorstep. That had been his first clue that this new life would be less than pleasant. This family he had found himself with was apparently his current body's Aunt, Uncle and cousin. From what little he could gather his Aunt had been his mother's sister. He was apparently a little over a year old when he had been placed in their care and Jūshiro regretted that he could not remember his current body's birth family. The only knowledge he had of his birth family was the few scraps his Aunt would share when she was in a particularly good mood, something that was rare with his presence in her home.

Her name was Petunia Dursley and her maiden name had been Evans. She wouldn't say what her parents’ names were, so he didn't know his grandparents. There weren't any pictures either, so he didn't even know their faces. He had been lucky enough to gather that his mother's name was Lily. For some reason, though, Petunia hated talking about her. Mention of her was often enough to sour their interactions for days. It took many years of patience before Jūshiro learned the name of his new father: James Potter. If Petunia hated talking about Lily, (a reaction that seemed almost like jealousy), she absolutely despised James. Something about him had simply rubbed her wrong and nothing Jūshiro asked ever gave hints at what that could be. Jūshiro's new name, it appeared, was Harry Potter.

Jūshiro's new uncle was a man by the name of Vernon Dursley. He was a large man by normal standards; heavy in build, but also heavy with the overindulgence of one who had never lacked for creature comforts. He was an employee at a company called Grunning's Drills, a British company. Jūshiro had discovered that he had been reborn in, or at least relocated to, England. His new home was in a small, heavily suburban, city known as Little Whinging in the county of Surrey. Jūshiro's explorations of the area around his new home showed a neighborhood of almost identical housing and a social scene that was as cut-throat as it was petty.

This social scene was reflected onto the upbringing of his cousin: a boy, a couple months off his physical age, named Dudley. Dudley wasn't the brightest of boys, but he was quickly acknowledged as the leader of the local hooligans due to his father's status compared to the other boys' fathers. All this boiled down to: his cousin was a bit of a bully because he had never been taught otherwise. Jūshiro, with the benefit of having a lifetime of memories as a mature adult, tried his best to teach Dudley how to interact with his peers without being a bully, but it was an uphill battle at best. Jūshiro, being physically Dudley's own age, and treated poorly at best by his parents, meant that he had no authority to use on Dudley. Any influence he wanted to exert had to be subtle. Or at least that had been the case.

Over the last decade, Jūshiro had made a most unpleasant discovery: his illness wasn't gone. He had no idea why, he was in a completely different body, but it had re-emerged. This made his new life very difficult. Jūshiro was well aware that his aunt and uncle wanted little to do with him (which made him wonder why they didn't just give him up for adoption) and so he could not get any sort of treatment for his illness. They fed him, clothed him and sent him to school, but they would do no more than those very basic of necessities for him. Doctor visits were not included in those basics. On top of that, he was to earn his keep by performing chores: things like cleaning and cooking. Physical things, that aggravated his illness by forcing his body beyond his current limits. He was lucky that in keeping up appearances for the neighbors, his aunt and uncle fed him enough that he did not grow up without the needed nutrition to survive.

Jūshiro's illness took many years to fully return, years during which he took pains to hide his affliction. He could not afford to anger his relatives too much, for fear that their tenuous (if unspoken) agreement to ignore each other would break. It had worked for a while, but one day it wasn't enough.

Dudley had grown into an active, if spoiled, child. He had grown used to his power over the other children he encountered and had progressed to the point that he felt the need to enforce this power over any that he felt had not submitted properly. In plain terms, Dudley was a right little terror to anyone and everyone. He never felt the consequences, because his parents never believed that their precious child could possibly be in the wrong. Dudley gathered a group of children who enjoyed lording it over the others and together they terrorized the children of the neighborhood. Many of their “games” including chasing down the victim. Luckily, they had yet to continue their activities to the point of an actual beating, but if they had not been stopped that would have been the next step.

A favorite victim of theirs had been Jūshiro. For all his knowledge gained from living a long life already, Jūshiro could not draw upon his former physical strength. He was human now, and a child at that – if only physically. This meant that while he was not actually intimidated by the children who sought to “rule” the playground, he could not yet defend himself. He was reduced to fleeing the group led by his cousin, a cousin who had no reason not to chase him – there was no true familial connection due to his parents' disregard of Jūshiro.

Unfortunately for Jūshiro, his illness made his escape difficult on the best of days. On one day in particular though, his illness created both the worst and best outcome.

\----------Flashback------------

_Jūshiro was running from his cousin and his group, desperately trying to keep ahead. It had been a long day, full of one bad thing after another. He had woken up late and his chest had been hurting. He had been given a longer than normal list of chores and a smaller amount of time in which to do them. His homework for school had been “mysteriously” vanished and his teacher had been upset enough to single him out for a “talk” after school. All of this had added up to one very bad day for Jūshiro. Unfortunately, it was about to get worse._

_He had just made it to the park nearby (one with plenty of hiding spots among the trees), when he was overtaken by one of his coughing fits. His illness caused fits where he couldn't breathe, and he would cough and cough until finally stopping. On the bad days, like the current one was shaping up to be, he didn't stop until he was coughing up blood. He had so far gotten lucky that these bad fits were at times when he was alone, so he could hide the evidence i.e. wash off the blood before someone noticed – but as stated before, this was a bad day._

_While he was coughing, his cousin and his group caught up to him. They called out to him, jeering about how he was a wimp that couldn't run without coughing. Shoving him around and laughing at his attempts to get away._

_“Not so fast, now, are you Potter?” one of the boys sneered._

_Jūshiro couldn't answer, his coughing fit only getting worse until he started hacking up blood. The boys finally noticed that something was wrong. He could feel the wetness covering his hands and knew that they were now covered in blood._

_"Will you stop that coughing!" Dudley said as he pulled Jūshiro's hand away from his mouth. Dudley faltered when he saw the blood on Jūshiro's hand. Many in the neighborhood believed that Dudley was stupid, but he was smart enough to know that something was very wrong when he saw the blood on his cousin's hand. He wasn't the only one to notice the blood._

_“What's up with that? Why are you bleeding? We didn't touch you!” another boy exclaimed. The boys shifted uneasily, now aware that something was wrong and not knowing the cause._

_His coughing finally abating, Jūshiro answered: “As you have probably figured out now, I'm sick. I have been for a while. I start coughing and can't control it, and when it gets bad enough I cough up blood. It also makes it hard to breathe, so I feel weak all the time.” Having said his part, and not seeing any more hostile movements from the boys surrounding him, Jūshiro slumped down against a nearby tree while wiping his hands on the grass._

_Dudley was confused, he had seen his cousin do all sorts of things around the house and elsewhere, and he had never seemed to have trouble. He had never seemed to need explanations either, for that matter, and had seemed very independent and just untouchable in the way that nothing seemed to bother him very long. He moved closer to Jūshiro and sat down nearby, feeling awkward about approaching the cousin he apparently didn't actually know. Taking their cues from Dudley, the other boys also gathered near._

_“But, if you are sick, why did I never notice? Why haven't Mum and Dad taken you to the doctor's?” Dudley was struggling with the idea that his cousin was sick enough to cough blood but had hidden well enough that he had only found out today. “When did you get sick? Do you know what it is?” morbid curiosity and a surprising want to know his cousin prompted Dudley to continue asking. The other boys seemed curious as well, if only because he was. None of them had seen an illness as serious as Jūshiro's seemed to be._

_“I have something called tuberculosis. It's an illness that affects your lungs, making it hard to breathe and making you cough. It doesn't go away after a while like a cold does. It just builds up and continues getting worse; unless you get the right medicine of course.” Pausing to breathe for a bit, Jūshiro looked around the park, noting the lack of people around while wondering how much he could tell the boys before it would go over their heads. He had already decided to explain his illness as the closest human equivalent, rather than the mystery it actually was. “I have had this illness for pretty much the entire time I have lived with you, Dudley – I'm just very good at hiding it. It wouldn't matter if I didn't hide it, though, you know as well as I do that your parents refuse to take me to any kind of doctor.”_

_Dudley shifted, a bit uncomfortable, realizing that his cousin was right. His parents wouldn't care, even if they did know. And it confused him more; if he was the one sick, his parents would have done anything and everything they could to help him get better._

_“Why don't they take you to the doctor's?” another boy asked, “My mum takes me every year at least! And every time I get sick, too.” The boys in Dudley's group all went to school together, so they all knew each other, but Jūshiro had an odd reputation among the children. They knew something was off about him, and he always seemed to know what was going on. He could explain things the adults said, if they got up the courage to ask. Of course, being odd, the children didn't know how to act around him and so they often tried to pick on him. Still, he never seemed to hold grudges and he was happy to explain whatever he was asked._

_“That's something hard to answer. They don't like me. They never said why, but Dudley's parents think that I'm a bad person and shouldn't be given more than I absolutely need.” Jūshiro wasn't sure how to explain. Not only did he have to explain a borderline neglectful family, but the children had no frame of reference for what was normal nor any concept of abuse. Not to mention, they would talk about anything he told them, and it would eventually get back to the parents and therefore the gossip of the neighborhood. Once it got that far, his relatives would hear of it and his situation would only worsen. Since they hadn't put him up for adoption despite obviously not liking his presence, there must have been a reason. One that he didn't want to chance before he knew more. Besides, he could deal with the status quo until he was of legal age._

_The boys weren't sure what to make of this. They knew that he had always told the truth before, but it simply didn't compute for them. Their parents always took care of them. Always made sure they had what they needed. Even those from the poorer families in the neighborhood went to the doctor's when they needed to, and they got toys and such when they wanted._

_Jūshiro started coughing again, though thankfully not as badly as before. He was tired from his fits during the day and was not looking forward to going home and dealing with his relatives._

_Listening to his coughing fit, the boys looked at each other and agreed. They would stop chasing him. The kinder among them decided to approach if he looked like he needed help. They didn't understand why Dudley's parents wouldn't take him to the doctor's, but maybe if they helped him he would get better?_

\----------Flashback End------------

Since then, Dudley and his friends have been helping Jūshiro when the chores that his aunt and uncle give him became too much for him to handle. In exchange, Jūshiro would help them out with their homework.

The meeting in the park became a permanent thing. After school they would meet up and work on schoolwork, before the boys would play with Jūshiro watching. Sometimes he would join in, and sometimes he would suggest a new game for them to play.

It was weird, but it worked. Jūshiro was a kid, but the other children knew that he was more than that. They started to treat him as a trusted go-between for figuring out what the adults meant. Jūshiro shared stories of his life before, censoring and adjusting as needed, but using the adventures to teach the children he found himself surrounded by. They eventually figured out that the stories were more than just stories and called Jūshiro by name. By that point, he was theirs and second life or no, that wasn't going to change.

The initial gathering of children – those who were in Dudley's group – expanded gradually over the years. As they grew older, they drew in those younger than them, helping everyone that wanted to join. The children all knew that Jūshiro was sick, but they also knew that none of the adults noticed or cared. Having grown attached, they all decided to pitch in and help him when they could. All the adults noticed was that their children were unusually attached to the park. They were content, however, since it was a safe zone to let the children loose. And when their work still got done, the parents were happy enough to let the kids do as they pleased.

Dudley, along with the other children, had grown attached to his cousin. He wanted Jūshiro to get better and had tried to get his parents to take him to the doctor's. Nothing he tried worked, but at least his cousin now had a room to live in instead of the cupboard he had been in before. Dudley had noticed, over the years, that his parents had strange reactions to certain things and were very concerned about how normal they were. And yet, they also treated his cousin very strangely. He had figured out what Jūshiro meant by his parents not liking him and did not like what that implied about their interactions. He had been devastated when he had finally made the connection between their actions towards Jūshiro and the abuse of a child. He was glad that Jūshiro seemed alright, but still, realizing that the same parents that loved him so much were capable of abuse had changed the boy.

Jūshiro, for his part, was just happy to have his own room – a space he could call his own. He enjoyed teaching the children and loved seeing their joy and awe when told stories. He loved watching the moment when they understood a concept they had been struggling with, on their schoolwork or in general. He certainly hadn't set out to gather the children around him, nor had he intended for anyone to know about his past, but some of the smarter children had put the pieces together. He didn't regret how things turned out, simply happy that he could help whoever needed it. He wasn't sure why none of the adults had caught on, the number of children that knew his past surely meant that it was only a matter of time before they would hear of it! Of course, the adults would have to realize that it was more than childish imagination and then connect his name with the new one of Harry Potter.

Unfortunately for Jūshiro, the years took their toll on his body. With the illness setting in at such an early age, he hadn't had a chance to build up his body. So he wasted away as the illness ravaged an adolescent's body instead of an adult's. His situation at home hadn't changed much either. He was still given chores and such to earn his keep and he was still hiding much of his illness. Dudley pitched in to help with the chores, the realization about his parents causing him to try and make it up to Jūshiro however he could. This, of course, made Jūshiro feel guilty. He had always been independent and hated causing more work for others, but with his body as it was, he could do nothing but except the help. He hated being a burden.

\----------------------

Jūshiro coughed again, curling in on himself as he rode out another fit. Dudley was hovering nearby, worried about the him but unable to do anything to help. Jūshiro grimaced at the situation. The entire family had been relocated by his uncle. Something about the letters that had been swarming the house for the last week or so.

\---------Flashback-------------

_It had started innocently, with a single letter delivered normally. Jūshiro had gathered the mail as told and passed it to his aunt before continuing his meal. However, the morning peace had been shattered by a shriek, his aunt staring at a letter in the stack._

_“Aunt Petunia? Is something wrong?” Jūshiro had asked, worried about what could have caused such an extreme reaction._

_“Nothing boy, mind your own business and clean up after the meal.” After saying so, she had turned to Vernon murmuring something about boy, freaks and no signs. She had ripped up the letter and thrown it to the fireplace, seeming relieved that it was gone._

_However, that had only been the beginning. There had been more similar looking letters the following day, enough that Jūshiro had noticed that they were addressed to a Harry James Potter, in other words: himself. When he had asked his aunt about them, she had reacted as if he had mentioned his father again and told him off as harshly as she could while shaking. Those letters, too, had ended up in the fireplace._

_The next days were followed by more and more of the letters, each carefully confiscated by his aunt or uncle, especially when Dudley had tried to get one to bring to him. That had been the first time that either boy had seen them punish him, whatever the letters were had shaken them badly._

_Their attempts to avoid the letters grew over the week, including barring the windows and nailing closed the mail slot. Nothing seemed to work, whoever was trying to contact Jūshiro was persistent, leaving him curious as to just who it was. No one had contacted him before, he was just the orphan boy the Dursleys had taken in in the eyes of the adults; all the children had other ways to contact him._

_Jūshiro's aunt and uncle grew so stressed with avoiding the letters, that they had decided to relocate, dragging the boys with them. Neither boy knew what to expect, simply told to get in the car. Vernon had driven to a remote beach with a pier. They were then taken out to an island with a small shack on it, only a small boat being their connection with the mainland. Vernon and Petunia seemed to finally relax. A storm had sprung up while they were settling in on the island, trying to make the shack habitable. It was very dusty, and it looked like someone had not cleaned it, nor done any maintenance on it, in about twenty years._

\----------Flashback End------------

Finally, Jūshiro's coughing subsided, and he drank the glass of water that Dudley handed to him. "Thank you for the water, Dudley," he said, happy for the help and feeling guilty for worrying his cousin again. Unfortunately, the shack was determined to cause him problems, the dust triggering coughing fit after coughing fit.

"No problem. Are you going to be alright?" Dudley asked.

"For now. If no one stirs up the dust," Jūshiro replied as he laid down to rest; that coughing fit had taken a toll on his already weak body.

Jūshiro didn't know what to make of the letters. He didn't know who would want to talk to him so badly, and he was worried about what it could mean. He was also worried about what the letters could do to the already tenuous at best status quo between himself and the elder Dursleys. His aunt, for one, had already started treating him worse during what little interactions they had had since the beginning of the mess. Neither of the elder Dursleys were in a hurry to interact with him though, so he couldn't be sure.

He had toyed with the thought that the letters were from someone in Soul Society but had eventually dismissed the possibility. None of his friends used normal postage like the letters, nor would they have bombarded the Dursleys with letter after letter like the mysterious sender had. His only clue was his aunt's reaction: it seemed connected to whatever made her hate his parents.

"It would be best if you got some rest, Jūshiro," Dudley interrupted his train of thought. They were alone, so he called him by name. The elder Dursleys were already in bed for the night, having crashed after the exodus earlier.

"Of course. I'm sorry for being a burden on you, Dudley," Jūshiro responded, aware that Dudley was only still up because he noticed the latest coughing fit.

"It's alright. Night, Jūshiro," Dudley said before yawning. He laid down next to Jūshiro, hoping to share whatever warmth they could in the small shack they had been brought to.

"Goodnight, Dudley," Jūshiro said, before closing his eyes to get his much-needed sleep to recover from the coughing. They went to sleep, not knowing that at midnight something was going to happen, something that would change their lives forever.

\- Chapter End -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will continue to edit the chapters as I post new ones, please check the list for the newest date to see if I have changed anything since you read it last. Please let me know if any problems or odd phrasing stand out and I will fix it as I have time. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit List:  
> -February 28, 2018  
> -December 27, 2018


	2. The Friendly Neighborhood Half-Giant Visits...With News!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic! (and dead people...)
> 
> Jūshiro finds a couple answers to his questions surrounding his current life: who his parents were (school sweethearts, apparently) and how they died (casualties of a hidden war)....and magic? An entirely different society hidden side-by-side? ... sounds familiar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this is not an original idea. I adopted this from Mitsukini Haninozuka who in turn got it from TheBlackSeaReaper. This is my first story, as well, so any feedback would be very much appreciated. Let me know what you think, please!

### 

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Everyone was fast asleep, shivering in their beds while the storm raged outside. As the night wore on, it had gotten worse. The winds howling around the outside and rattling the windows. The rain was beating a fast and harsh rhythm on the roof.

**BOOM**

Jūshiro and Dudley startled awake to the sound. Staring at each other and then around at the shack, they wondered what had caused the noise.

**BOOM**

It came again, this time noticeable as a loud pounding on the door. Rattling the shack down to its foundations, letting them feel the vibrations in their bones.

**BOOM**

There was someone at the door. Neither of the boys knew who or what could cause such a loud sound, for all that it sounded like knocking. They decided to get up and move their bedding aside, huddling together in the corner by the fireplace. They had no way of leaving, for there was only one door, and with the storm outside the warmth left over from last night's fire was appreciated. Dudley helped Jūshiro to his feet, both listening for any more noises, noting as the elder Dursleys got up. Jūshiro leaned on Dudley while they waited, his body still weak from the coughing fits earlier. Whenever he had a fit, especially the bad ones, he needed time to recover his strength – time he hadn't gotten in this case. Pushing his long black hair out of his face – he had chosen to regrow his previous lengthy style – he watched his relatives stumble down the stairs. Vernon had a shotgun, of all things, in his hands, shakily pointed at the door. Jūshiro wondered if that was the package he hadn't let anyone touch on their way to the shack.

**BOOM**

“Who's out there? What do you want?” Vernon shouted, trying to get a handle on the situation. He had a crazed look on his face, one that had made an appearance several times over the week when confronted by the mysterious letters. The look did not inspire confidence in either of the boys, both nervous at the implications of an unstable man with a gun and no good cover nearby to avoid any fallout. Jūshiro and Dudley hoped that he wouldn't shoot them, even if it would probably be on accident. Accidentally shooting them still meant that they had been shot, after all. The boys huddled together, staying quiet and hoping not to draw the attention of Vernon, both knowing nothing good could come of this.

**BOOM**

Suddenly, there was a loud crash as the door slammed into the ground. The hinges had given way under the assault, and the door had simply fallen over. Staring at the door, Jūshiro almost missed the person on the other side of the doorway. Almost. His attention drawn back by movement in the doorway, he saw a giant man – one that was of a size comparable to his old comrade Kenpachi Zaraki. The giant walked into the room, completely ignoring the man with the gun. Once he cleared the doorway, he bent down and picked up the fallen door, setting it back in its frame.

“Sorry about that, I didn't mean to knock the door in,” the giant said with a sheepish expression on his face. Vernon, taking offense at being ignored, puffed up, opening his mouth to tear into the stranger.

Seeing this, Jūshiro quickly cut in, “Excuse me, sir, may I ask who you are?” He didn't know the stranger, nor did he know his temperament, but he figured it best to avoid making the large man angry and Vernon was clearly unable to be civil. He was confused, though, something was trying to get his attention – nagging at him, like he had forgotten something important.

The giant man took stock of his surroundings, scanning the inside of the shack, looking at each person in turn. He lingered on the two boys longest, before turning to Jūshiro and beaming. “You must be Harry. I haven't seen you since you were just a babe. I'm Rubeus Hagrid, call me Hagrid. I'm the Keeper of Keys and the Grounds of Hogwarts.”

Jūshiro was trying to figure out what this meant. He had never heard of Hogwarts before, and he wondered if it had anything to do with the time before his parents' death – the time he couldn't remember. He had thought that the giant looked familiar, but couldn't place him, the knowledge just nagging at him. Then it clicked, the giant he remembered seeing just before he woke up at the Dursleys'! Just as he opened his mouth to ask Hagrid if it was indeed that person, Vernon cut in, having used the time to work up his courage.

“How dare you barge in here! I demand that you leave this ins-” Before Vernon could finish his rant, Hagrid grabbed the shotgun he had been waving around. With as much effort as one would use to fold paper, he twisted the rifle into a knot rendering it a useless piece of metal and wood. Tossing it at an unoccupied corner, Hagrid turned back to Jūshiro.

Having been thinking while this was happening, Jūshiro realized he had a more important question. “Mr. Hagrid, sir, do you know anything about the letters someone has been sending me recently?”

"None of that Mr. stuff and yes, that's why I'm here," Hagrid said as he dug around inside his pockets for something. Letter in hand, Hagrid approached Jūshiro, handing him the first letter he had ever received in this lifetime. When the elder Dursleys moved to intercept the letter, he simply glared at them, daring them to try anything. His previous performance with the shotgun seemed to have left an impression, however, and they subsided simply glaring and watching the proceedings.

Ignoring the byplay of the adults, Jūshiro and Dudley hurried to open the letter, eager to see what it contained. Both had noticed the efforts of the elder Dursleys to avoid the letters and wanted to see just what was so bad about a simple envelope. Looking at the address on the front, Jūshiro noticed that it was addressed to a Harry James Potter; listing his address as a shack by the sea. He was somewhat disturbed at the evidence of a real-time location for him, since they had been on the island for maybe 12 hours total. Jūshiro wasn't sure what to make of the thought that the mysterious “they” had been keeping tabs on him like that. However, he didn't share his thoughts about this with the room, not knowing what the tracking involved.

Turning the letter over, he noticed an intricate wax seal holding the envelope closed. He had already noted that the letter (or at least the envelope) was not made of paper. It was a thicker weight, possibly parchment, since the texture was wrong for card-stock. Once again, he wasn't sure what to make of it. These days, people didn't use parchment; preferring to use the cheaper mass-produced paper. Living for as long as he had previously, this was not his first encounter with it, but given the century it was still strange. The seal on the envelope was a shield divided in four, with an animal in each quarter. There was a motto along the bottom: Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus. 'Latin,' Jūshiro thought, 'meaning “never tickle a sleeping dragon”.' An interesting motto, to be sure.

Cracking the seal, Jūshiro pulled out the contents of the envelope – several more sheets of parchment. Looking them over, he read what looked like an acceptance letter to a school. A school called Hogwarts, apparently teaching young witches and wizards how to use magic. Included in the batch of parchment was a supplies list and a ticket to a train found in London at a Platform 9 ¾, something that confused him considering the platforms were only labeled with whole numbers. Giving the letter to Dudley to read, Jūshiro turned back to Hagrid.

“This is a letter to a magic school. It says it is in Scotland and run by a headmaster with a long list of titles. Does this mean that magic is real? It is an awful lot of preparation for a simple prank...” Jūshiro trailed off, not knowing what to say. He knew that the supernatural was not all just myths, considering he was a reincarnated Shinigami, but seeing evidence of a magical society was not something he was expecting.

“Of course, magic's real! Watch!” Hagrid sputtered, pulling out a pink umbrella from one of his pockets. Jūshiro only had a moment to register the incongruity of a normal sized umbrella next to a giant man like Hagrid before he pointed it at the fireplace which had gone dark over the course of the night. Suddenly, a large fire burst out, crackling merrily and warming up the room.

“Awesome!” cried Dudley, who like most young boys enjoyed a good explosion or some fire. “Hey, wait, what else can magic do? Can it cure an illness, like his?” Dudley had grown up hearing Jūshiro's stories and sneaking fantasy books from the library so that his parents didn't see. Knowing that magic was real now, he hoped that there might be special cures or something that could help his cousin. He had mostly given up hope on his parents allowing a doctor's visit and just resigned himself to helping his cousin as well as he could.

“ILLNESS?! Are you sick, Harry?” Hagrid spun around to study Jūshiro closely, hoping desperately that it wasn't true. Noting the bags under his eyes, and the way he held himself carefully, Hagrid was forced to acknowledge the truth. 'The poor boy,' he thought, 'his bad luck never seems to end. His parents murdered by that madman and now he was sick and obviously had been for some time.' Hagrid saw that Jūshiro was pale and sweating under the light of the fire, breathing heavily and sagging against his cousin. He had simply dismissed it as being cold before, but now Hagrid couldn't deny that Jūshiro looked sick.

“It's simply a lung ailment, one I have dealt with for my whole life. Don't worry about it, it's no big deal.” Jūshiro tried to dismiss Hagrid's concern, he had looked for a cure the entirety of his previous life and held no hope that magic would fare any better. “Hagrid, could you tell me anything about my parents or the magical World?” Jūshiro changed the subject, hoping that the friendly giant would leave it alone. After all, he was still curious about this life's parents and background.

Hagrid allowed the subject change, deciding that Jūshiro was uncomfortable talking about whatever his illness was. He started by describing Jūshiro's parents, giving small anecdotes about them and generally painting a picture of a young couple desperately in love. He talked about how this hadn't always been true, and that Jūshiro's dad was an unrepentant prankster. Apparently, James had fallen for Lily long before she had even noticed him, and he had decided that pranking her would help him woo her. He had had a small circle of friends that were practically brothers, a group that was named the Marauders for their inability to follow the rules and/or stop causing mischief and just generally terrorizing the school.

While Hagrid was talking, Dudley kept an eye on his parents. He thought he had finally figured out what had set his parents off: magic. Why they hated it, though, he wasn't sure. Maybe a bad wizard had done something to them? If Hagrid was anything to go by, they couldn't all be bad people. When Jūshiro deflected Hagrid's attention from his illness, saying that it wasn't so bad, he simply shook his head. He knew just how much Jūshiro struggled through each day, but he also knew that Jūshiro had all but given up on any sort of cure. By this point, Dudley, himself, wasn't sure that any doctors would be able to help, the illness having lasted so long. He was happy, though, that Jūshiro had a chance to learn about his parents. Both boys had wondered, knowing that family history was off limits in the Dursley household. Finding out that his aunt was a witch, and therefore part of an entirely separate world that even Jūshiro hadn’t known about was so cool!

Hagrid continued talking: describing a civil war that raged in the background of their life, one that had started in the generation before theirs. He told of a madman that gathered people who didn't agree with the changes that were happening as more and more new blood entered the magical world. The people the madman gathered were the old noble families – Dark families. He mentioned a split between Light families and Dark families, with those who refused to choose stuck in the middle. He told of the madman who was strong enough that all but one feared him and refused to speak his name, calling him only He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who. With much effort, Hagrid managed to speak his name: Voldemort.

Hagrid told of Albus Dumbledore (the headmaster listed in the school letter, Jūshiro noted), the one man that Voldemort feared; the man who held him off and led the forces for Light against the Dark. Hagrid said that Jūshiro's parents, like many of their generation, had joined the fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Hagrid mentioned that the last months of the war, his parents had gone into hiding – apparently to protect him – once they had noticed that Jūshiro was on the way. In a quiet voice, Hagrid described the Halloween when Voldemort had tracked down his family in an attempt at ridding himself of the people that had escaped him so many times before. No one there had survived, his parents had been killed by this Voldemort, but the curious thing was that when help had arrived Voldemort was ashes in the wind while he himself was alive with only a scar. He had become famous for surviving a curse that had killed all others and ridding the world of the madman known as Voldemort.

Jūshiro wasn't sure what to think. He was famous in this magical society. Famous for surviving when his parents and their enemy had not. He needed time to think about it all, to let it sink in. Time, it seemed, that he would not be getting as Hagrid expressed the intent to take him to get his supplies as soon as possible. One thing was for certain though, he wasn't sure he would be able to celebrate Halloween in quite the same way ever again.

Dudley listened, amazed at the story. He couldn't believe that they could miss an entire war happening right under their noses, though he was glad it was over. His cousin was famous! Not that he could even tell anyone, but even so none of the other children could claim to be related to a celebrity like that! Even better, his cousin was magic and there was a new chance for him to be healed!

The elder Dursleys had finally had enough. They had kept any mention of this world of magic from Jūshiro and had intended to continue doing so for as long as they were alive. Then this stranger comes along and ruins that, while poisoning their precious little boy as well. No more!

“Of course, it would be magic. It's always magic. You freaks think you're so special, no wonder you got into a war with each other! My sister was a witch. A freak like all the rest. She got her letter at eleven just like you, and she just left without a thought to the rest of us. She'd come home crowing about everything she could do, and mother and father would gush over how smart their little witch was. I knew her for what she was, though. She was just a freak.” Petunia couldn't keep quiet anymore, listening to the talk of magic. She had always despised it, and she grew to despise her sister too for having it. Her sister goes off, gets married and gets herself killed in this silly little war among all the freaks. Then she gets landed with her sister's spawn, told simply to suck it up and deal. She was lucky, she told herself, that she didn't have magic. For how could she have been a respectable member of society with such an upstanding husband like Vernon if she had had magic! She was glad Vernon hadn't held it against her that her sister was a witch.

Vernon for his part had never approved of the idea of magic. The world was supposed to work a certain way, according to a certain logic, and then here comes this group of people with magic that mucked up the way of things. It was unnatural the things it could do, so he avoided it and any mention of it when he could. When his wife found the spawn of her sister on their doorstep, they contented themselves with the thought that maybe he wouldn't have magic. Maybe, just maybe, he would be a normal child with the misfortune of bad parents. They never saw anything to contradict that, none of the little things that Petunia had told him happened when Lily was a just child. They had relaxed as over the years nothing showed up. Then this mess happened. Apparently, the brat had magic after all, he was just weird for not showing it.

“Don't think you're going to this school, boy. I refuse to pay for this nonsense! I refuse to pay for you to learn any of this freakishness you call magic!” Vernon was adamant that he would have nothing to do with magic.

“As if you had any say in this!” Hagrid retorted, “the tuition has already been dealt with and only Harry has any say in whether or not he attends. You think a muggle like yourself could stop us if we decided to leave?”

“Fine. So, he's going to this place with all the other freaks, huh? Well good riddance! This boarding school will take him and keep him out of our hair for the school year.” Vernon said, realizing that it would probably be a good idea to back off, the giant may have seemed friendly, but the shotgun was a testament to his strength. Strength that Vernon had no guarantee would not be turned on him and his family.

\------------

**(In Soul Society…)**

They gathered in the meeting room, waiting for the announcement. A low buzz of conversation filled the air, friends and comrades exchanging news and catching up on the day's events. The captains and vice captains alike were confused. They had all been called to the First Division's meeting room but hadn't been given a reason. Most meetings involved either the captains or the vice captains and it was a rare occurrence when both were gathered together. The last time had been during a crisis, but they didn't think that was the case this time. After all, the Captain-Commander wasn't acting grim like last time. In fact, he almost seemed excited!

Finally, the last of them arrived and found seats, leaving them all painfully aware of the empty seat where the captain of the Thirteenth Division had once sat. It was a grim reminder of the consequences of war. There was a pall over the Thirteenth, none of them coping well with the loss. They all pitched in to cover the work so that they could avoid receiving a new captain. No one was ready for someone to fill that position. It had been held by a dear friend for long enough that his shadow would forever threaten to swallow any who tried to step up.

The man had been one of the pillars of life in the Soul Society. He was one half of the pair of students that the Captain-Commander had taught himself, becoming akin to a son to him. Both the Captain-Commander and the man's fellow student (and brother-figure) had lost dear friends over the years, but his loss was that of family – leaving an aching hole in their interactions with the world. His loss brought home the many millennia of life that the Captain-Commander Yamamoto Genryuusai had lived, making him feel every bit of his age. The man's brother-figure, Kyouraku Shunsui, fared no better, feeling off without his brother to balance out, and occasionally encourage, his sense of humor and fondness for life. Shunsui looked after the Thirteenth Division when he could, pouring himself into what little he had left of his brother, unable to shake the feeling that things would have been different if he had only done a little more.

“Welcome, captains and vice captains. As most of you have been told, the Research and Development Department has been going through their scanners and updating their technology and databases. Hopefully, you have all remembered to submit the lists of those who need to be marked as deceased in the database of soul signatures.” Yamamoto looked around at his subordinates, well aware of the general dislike for filling out paperwork. Once upon a time, he would have directed his pointed look at his student, Shunsui, but the loss of his other student had changed things.

“While updating the scanners, standard procedure is to run through tests to verify how well they are functioning; usually they are simply set to track the Captains and vice captains.” Yamamoto knew he was confusing everyone in the room. This was a matter of internal procedure, and not one that was a problem either. “This is significant, because all of the newly installed scanners reported a soul signature that should not have been present. It was verified in all ways but visual. The previous scanners never picked up on this soul signature because they were more limited and had been affected by the wear and tear of centuries of use.” Yamamoto had to hide a grin, knowing that his next words would cause an uproar.

“The scanners picked up the soul signature of the captain of the Thirteenth Division, Jūshiro Ukitake.”

Yamamoto sat back and watched as chaos reigned. He knew what the loss of his student Jūshiro had done to the Soul Society and what this news might mean for them. He looked up and met the eyes of his remaining student, Shunsui. He knew, too, what the loss of Jūshiro had done to the man. He had watched as the lazy, fun-loving but competent man withdrew into a mere shell of himself; taking on as much work as he could to occupy himself. Shunsui was looking for confirmation from him, watching to see if it was alright to hope again if this news panned out. Yamamoto nodded to him, confirming that the news was not a joke – in poor humor as it might have been, were it only a jest.

Shunsui slumped back in his chair, at a loss for words. The scanners had registered the soul signature of his brother, Jūshiro. The brother he had watched die in front of him, helpless to intervene. The re-emergence of hope was a painful thing. Oh, he knew that the scanners had merely picked up the reincarnation of his brother, but the soul was still him. Memories or no, the soul of his brother had not vanished into the ether. No one knew for sure how the cycle of reincarnation worked. They didn't know how long a soul would have to wait before rebirth, nor did they know how many waited and where they might wait. He was well aware that it had been a possibility that Shunsui, as long-lived a race as Shinigami are, would not have lived long enough to feel the soul of his brother again. But fate, luck or whatever higher power had smiled upon him. His brother was reborn! He allowed himself to relax, feeling happier than he had for over a decade – since his brother had been stolen from him.

The others in the room slowly started to quiet down, coming to a consensus on what questions to ask. Foremost among them, would Jūshiro remember them? Would he be the same person that they had watch die over a decade before? Also important were the questions of where he had been reborn and if he was safe there. As a Captain level Shinigami before death, had he retained any of his reiatsu and therefore was he vulnerable to hollows?

Seeing that the chaos was over and done with, Yamamoto took control of the meeting once more. “Now that you are quiet, I can continue. The soul signature of Ukitake Jūshiro was located in a small town called Surrey in England. Since we have just found his reincarnation, we do not yet know his living conditions nor the answers to any of your other questions. I plan to remedy this immediately, with a mission to his new residence. Depending on the outcome of this scouting mission, there may be a rotating guard in his new hometown. Details will be decided later.” So saying he dismissed the meeting, knowing that it would soon be all over Soul Society that the reincarnation of the Thirteenth Captain had been found. He waved to Shunsui and the captain of the Fourth Division, Retsu Unohana, to stay behind while the others filed out.

Once the room had cleared, they stared at each other, not knowing where to start. They had each been the closest to Jūshiro, and therefore also the most affected by his death.

“So, Yama-jii, Jūshiro has been found.” Shunsui decided to start, fed up with the silence.

“Indeed. I find myself wondering the answers to their questions as well.” Retsu chimed in. She had grown close to the man over the millennia she had tended to him. She had tried her best to find cure for Jūshiro's illness but had never succeeded. It was a blow to her pride as the foremost healer in all of Soul Society that she could not cure him, but she had only felt the despair of failure and helplessness when they had brought his body back to her to prepare for burial. They had been friends, neither interested in more, but she had wanted to do her best for him – his continued ailment bothered her, and she had been unable to do anything for him before his end.

Yamamoto acknowledged her with a nod of his head, “You are not alone in your curiosity, I assure you. I do not know his situation, so I was hoping that the both of you would accompany me to find him. To make sure with our own eyes that he is doing well, and perhaps answer some of those questions as well.”

“When do you want to leave? When can we go see him?” Shunsui was excited and worried. He had just been told that his brother was reincarnated, but no one knew anything about his new life. There was a valid concern about his reiatsu following him into his new life, and Shunsui didn't want his brother hurt by a lack of control or by some hollows looking for a snack. He wished he could tell his brother how sorry he was for his death and beg for forgiveness since he couldn't save him. Unfortunately, his brother had been reincarnated, so it was likely he wouldn’t remember any of them.

“We will leave two days from now. I need to set up a leave of absence for myself and two captains, for a duration of a week. I am hoping that you will arrange what you need to within your divisions.” Getting agreement from both of them, Yamamoto dismissed them, knowing he had stacks upon stacks of paperwork to finish before he could be away for a full week.

By the end of the day, everyone in Soul Society had heard the good news. Spirits were higher than they had been since the war, and spontaneous parties broke out. Jūshiro had affected many of their lives for the better. He had been missed.

\- Chapter End -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will continue to edit the chapters as I post new ones, please check the list for the newest date to see if I have changed anything since you read it last. Please let me know if any problems or odd phrasing stand out and I will fix it as I have time. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit List:  
> -February 28, 2018  
> -December 27, 2018


	3. Pointed Hats, Brooms and Magic Back Alleys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic banker goblins! Shopping! (and spoiled brats...)
> 
> Jūshiro learns that he is FAMOUS and that he has (magical) money available in the living world. And he needs school supplies (wand, books, clothes, a cauldron and potion ingredients, etc). At least he got a new friend/pet out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this is not an original idea. I adopted this from Mitsukini Haninozuka who in turn got it from TheBlackSeaReaper. This is my first story, as well, so any feedback would be very much appreciated. Let me know what you think, please!

### 

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Jūshiro followed Hagrid closely, trying not to get separated from him in the crowd they were wading through. He was a bit overwhelmed, the reception he had gotten from the people (wizards?) in the bar they just exited had surprised him with its strength. Clearly, he had underestimated his fame. He still wasn't quite sold on the idea of being famous for what had happened. No one present during the event had the presence of mind to report what happened; all but one dead, and the survivor a mere infant. Still, it seemed that this magical society had decided that as the survivor he was clearly the one responsible for any vanquishing that had happened. Even he couldn't remember what happened, it had occurred before he woke up, so he couldn't say what was true. Jūshiro, personally, would have guessed that it was something his parents had done. It was far from uncommon for odd things to come of a last-ditch effort when parents were protecting their child. He didn't know what means these people had for investigating, though, so maybe it really had been something that he had done? He just wished he could remember.

Jūshiro was broken out of his thoughts when he registered that Hagrid had stopped. They were standing in front of a large white building with ornate detailing and steps leading up to the entrance. A sign on the front announced that it was called Gringotts Bank. Looking closer, Jūshiro noticed a pair of guards standing by the doors, watching the crowds that filtered in. They were short, compared to humans, and had features that were decidedly inhuman: sharp teeth, slight claws, pointed ears and an almost green tint to their skin. Asking Hagrid, Jūshiro was informed that they were goblins; apparently, they were a warrior race that doubled as the bankers for the entire wizarding world. Hagrid told him that Gringott's was widely proclaimed the safest place in the world, possibly second only to Hogwarts.

Pausing a moment to let another coughing fit pass, and waving off Hagrid's concern, Jūshiro and Hagrid mounted the steps heading for the doors. As they came closer, Jūshiro noticed a poem engraved near the doors:

> Enter, stranger, but take heed  
>  Of what awaits the sin of greed  
>  For those who take, but do not earn,  
>  Must pay dearly in their turn.  
>  So if you seek beneath our floors  
>  A treasure that was never yours,  
>  Thief, you have been warned, beware  
>  Of finding more than treasure there.

'Interesting,' Jūshiro thought to himself, 'I wonder if a warning like this posted near the entrance to the Twelfth Division's barracks would help.' He was well aware of the rumors surrounding the Twelfth Division. It was the division responsible for the Research and Development Department headed by Captain Mayuri Kurotsuchi and was known for its dubious legality. Jūshiro was one of the few aware of Kurotsuchi's background, particularly the fact the he had been sentenced to the Maggot's Nest before entrance into the division, and so he was also aware of the truth of most of the rumors. In fact, some were perhaps downplayed as Kurotsuchi's experiments were infamous in their disregard to the common morality. Perhaps a warning like this would help keep the new recruits away from the division until they knew better?

Turning his attention back to the bank's doors, Jūshiro nodded to the guards as he entered. These goblins were hardly the strangest things that he had come across in his lifetimes. Hollows could turn into the oddest forms; some were truly grotesque combinations of known and imagined animals. In any case, they were obviously sentient and so it was only polite to treat them as he would any other.

Once inside, Jūshiro was amazed at the scale of the building. Grand marble sculpting around pillars and a magnificent chandelier dominating the room. Watching the crowds, he saw rows of tellers – more goblins – tending to the business of the witches and wizards lined up in the hall. There were more guards inside the bank, leaning against the walls watching for trouble. Joining the line with Hagrid to wait their turn, he took a chance to look around in more detail. This second sweep of the bank let him see what appeared to be private offices along the walls and another grand entrance into what he assumed was the vault area. This thought led to something he had been wondering as soon as he realized he needed supplies.

“Hagrid, is there some sort of fund for those who can't pay for themselves? Uncle Vernon made it very clear he would be funding absolutely none of my schooling, so I couldn't bring any money with me.” Jūshiro wasn't sure what he would be able to do if there wasn't some sort of fund. While he was mentally mature and capable enough to work some sort of job, it didn't change the fact that he was physically a child barely starting on his second decade. That didn't even approach the problem with physical labor given his illness.

“Blimey, Harry, why would you want to know that? Your parents left you everything they had, a right nice sum I imagine. However, there is a small stipend for orphans who can't pay for their own supplies.” Hagrid couldn't figure out why the boy would ask about the orphan's fund considering his inheritance. Had he not known of it? Maybe he hadn't considering the type of muggle he had been raised by.

An inheritance? Jūshiro was stunned with the implications. He was famous and now his (wealthy?) parents had left everything to him. Why had no one told him? He was a child, yes, but... But he had been raised apart from this magical society by a family that hated him. If they knew of his inheritance, he would eat his shoe. If they had, they would have tried everything they could to take it from him.

It was their turn next, Jūshiro saw, and even as he noticed this a teller became free. Motioning to Hagrid, they approached the teller's desk.

“Key, please?” The teller asked.

'Key, what key?' Jūshiro didn't know what he was asking for. Luckily, it seemed that Hagrid did; as he was searching for something in his pockets again. When he emerged from his struggle with his huge coat, Hagrid was brandishing a small, delicate-looking, golden key. Was this his vault key? Why did Hagrid have it? Was he the only one to have had it over the years? Does that mean anyone could have gotten into his vaults, simply by showing this key? Jūshiro didn't think that Hagrid was a bad person from what he had observed, but if Hagrid wasn't the only one with access to his key and therefore his vault, then Jūshiro had no idea if what he would see in the vault would be everything he should have received. However, Jūshiro decided to deal with that line of inquiry later. He had enough to think about having been introduced to an entirely new world, one that likely had an entirely new set of laws and standards he would need to research. Still, Jūshiro decided to ask for his key and resolved to find out if it was the only one to his vaults.

The trip down to his vault was a wonderful experience. They were lead to a cart set on rails that extended into the tunnels below the bank. Settling themselves on the benches, their goblin guide started the cart. It was much slower than the flash-step he had been capable of before his death, but it was the closest he had experienced since. He hadn't realized that he was missing the freedom of movement it had granted, and he took the time to relish the air brushing over his face. Looking at his companions, Jūshiro was chagrined to notice that Hagrid didn't seem to be enjoying the ride nearly as much – at least if the queasy look on his face was anything to go by.

Too soon for Jūshiro's liking, they arrived at his vault. Climbing out of the cart, Jūshiro looked around curiously, noting the entrances to the other vaults in this stretch of the tunnels. Unfortunately for him, it was not a well-kept area of the tunnels, and the dust kicked up by their arrival in the cart triggered another coughing fit. Recovering quickly from his relatively minor fit, Jūshiro joined Hagrid and their guide, who had introduced himself as Griphook when Jūshiro had asked. They were in front of one of the vaults, presumably his own. Griphook touched the door, seeming to do something to it after asking for the key. Once the door was open, Jūshiro stared wide-eyed. There was a very large mound of golden coins in the vault. He had picked up on the implications that his parents had been wealthy, but this was just ridiculous. Getting an explanation on the currency from Griphook, as well as a recommended amount from Hagrid, Jūshiro grabbed a pouch full of coins.

During the ride back to the surface, Jūshiro wondered what, if anything, he should do with his newfound wealth. Having lived millennia previously with a salary from a military organization he had amassed quite the fortune. Most of that, however, had gone to supporting his multiple relatives in the Rukongai. Now, however, he had no way of contacting them and no real use for the money for anything else. His current relatives (with the exception of Dudley if needed) were never a consideration. His stay in their home was hardly deserving of monetary recompense, especially considering all the work he did for them. He decided that he would simply ensure as thorough an education as he could, perhaps starting side projects once he had settled in at school. Depending on the quality of information available to students, he might end up creating his own library – an effort that would be vastly aided by his new fortune. It would probably be a good idea, however, to figure out just how much he had and how much he would need to live off of before going on a shopping spree.

Upon exiting the bank, Hagrid made sure that he still had his supplies list and knew the general direction to find the shops he needed. After the ride in the bank, Hagrid was looking decidedly unwell and had asked if Jūshiro minded him heading to the bar for a pick-me-up. Poor Hagrid hadn't wanted to leave Jūshiro to fend for himself, especially since he was sick, but Jūshiro waved his concerns away hoping that Hagrid would feel better after that drink.

Turning to the first shop that Hagrid had pointed out, Jūshiro entered Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Asking the overworked attendant what he needed for a full Hogwarts uniform, he was quickly told to wait by the stools in the back of the shop. They were set out for the customers to stand on while the seamstress pinned the clothing and checked the sizing. There were only the two employees in sight, and Jūshiro hoped that by complying without any fuss he could ease their workload. He seemed to be among the minority with that mindset, he noted, watching the attendant wrangle the crowds and the seamstress struggle with the boy she was trying to size properly.

Waiting for the seamstress to finish what she was doing, Jūshiro decided to study her customer. It was a young boy, likely the same age as he was physically. He was blond, with his hair slicked back, and he had sharp features that were obvious even through the baby fat. The boy, noticing his scrutiny, called out to him.

“Hogwarts as well?”

Jūshiro nodded.

“I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy. Do you know what House you're going to be in?”

Well. This one was an unfortunate example of the noble cliché. It was too bad, some of the nobles he had known in Soul Society truly lived up to their titles as premier examples of the best of society in all ways. Some, however, had not. This boy was just a child, one with only a little over a decade of life experience and he was already taught to treat others as beneath him. Jūshiro wondered what he would be like if he could be brought out from under the shadow of his Family Duty. Returning his attention to the question he had been asked, he found he could not answer. He did not know what this Draco Malfoy meant by a House. He decided on a simple answer, hoping it would be enough.

“I don't know yet, do you?” He didn't offer his name yet, unsure of how to deal with his fame and also unsure of how pervasive it was. He didn't want to deal with politicking this early in the game.

“I suppose you never know for sure, but I hope to be in Slytherin. My entire family has been Slytherins! Ravenclaw wouldn't be so bad, I suppose, they're just a bunch of bookworms, but I don't think I could stand being in Gryffindor. Still, anything is better than being in Hufflepuff...” Malfoy's mini-rant was almost entirely unhelpful. Pretty much all it did was establish that Malfoy was very opinionated about the Houses. It didn't even tell him what these Houses were! Pondering the rant a little longer, though, Jūshiro guessed that whatever these Houses were they were at least somewhat influenced by lineage. The seamstress shooed Malfoy away after this, having finished while the boys were talking. She motioned Jūshiro forward for his turn, briskly pinning together a set of robes for him.

After he was done in the robe shop, he met up with Hagrid again. Together they went through the rest of his list, leaving the wand for last. Jūshiro discovered that Hagrid had already bought some of the items for him, things like his potions ingredients and such. A mini-argument ensued where Jūshiro wanted to reimburse Hagrid for the supplies and Hagrid refused to take the money. Finally, as they reached their last stop, Jūshiro won and paid Hagrid back.

Looking at the shop where he was supposed to get a wand, Jūshiro could only think that it was hardly an impressive storefront.

\-------------

Later, after paying for his wand and exiting, Jūshiro decided that his opinion wasn't in error. It had been a small dusty little shop, filled with shelving stacked high with small wand boxes. Dealing with the store and shopkeeper, both, had been an exercise in patience. The store had set off a coughing fit that had lasted his entire time inside and the shopkeeper had been a singularly disturbing old man. On top of that, his wand had taken a while to find; with many embarrassing mishaps during the trial runs of the misfit wands. Hagrid had ducked out near the beginning, the shop being too small for him to stand in while avoiding the misadventures with the wands.

Outside, Jūshiro found Hagrid waiting, an oddly shaped object in his hands. Drawing closer, Jūshiro saw it was a birdcage with an owl in it. A beautiful snowy with golden eyes. Hagrid, it seemed, had gotten him a birthday present. Thanking him over and over, Jūshiro carefully excepted his new pet. He hadn't received a birthday present before in this life, and he knew he would treasure the gift of a new friend for a long time.

“Hello there, beautiful. I need a name for you. What do you think of the name Yuki?” Jūshiro directed his question at the owl, hoping she would like the name. Taking her hoot as agreement, Jūshiro smiled, looking forward to introducing her to Dudley.

Heading back out into London proper, Hagrid turned to Jūshiro, “Well, Harry, this is where we part. I need to head back to Hogwarts, now. Will you be alright getting home?” He was somewhat worried for Jūshiro, having noticed the many coughing fits he had had over the day.

“Yes Hagrid, I'll be fine. I'll just take a taxi back to the Dursley's.”

“Well, alright. Don't lose your train ticket and I'll see you at Hogwarts. Stay well.” And saying this, Hagrid turned and left, leaving Jūshiro standing on the street corner with an owl and a school trunk.

Jūshiro sighed, looking at his stuff before waving down a taxi. He hoped he had enough for a ride back to Surrey. He wondered if the Dursleys had made it back yet. He hoped so, he wasn't sure what he would do if they hadn't returned yet. Well, he'd figure something out. In the meantime, he'd get to know his new pet, Yuki.

Reflecting on his day and the first contact he had with the magical society that his parents had been part of, he resolved to learn the history at his first opportunity. He knew next to nothing about it, as that confrontation in Madame Malkin's had highlighted, and he wanted to have more knowledge to draw on before meeting with more of Malfoy's ilk. The boy presented himself as a spoiled brat and just generally rubbed Jūshiro the wrong way. He might be one of the kindest, gentlest and most caring captains in the Soul Society, however even he had found that certain kinds of people just got on his nerves.

\-------------

**(Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts...)**

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, sighed to himself while watching the four Heads of House he had invited into his office. He had gathered them to talk about the upcoming school year and what everybody expected from it. However, as usual, not everyone got along. In particular, Minerva McGonagall – Head of Gryffindor – and Severus Snape – Head of Slytherin – were once again at each other's throats. The other two Heads of House, Pomona Sprout of Hufflepuff and Filius Flitwick of Ravenclaw were attempting to referee with little luck. This was a common sight when Minerva and Severus were forced to interact. They could be civil and professional when absolutely necessary, but most of the time they were subtly (or outright) trying to one-up the other.

Albus was just about to pull them back on track, in hopes that the meeting could progress, when Hagrid entered the office. The others paused their conversations, wanting to hear what he said. They knew that Hagrid had been out as a guide to a student as a cover for another mission. All of those present knew of Albus’ intention to retrieve something from Gringotts to hide in the school. They weren’t all sold on the idea that Gringotts could be breached, but they didn’t begrudge him his caution. He had explained his hope that the extensive wards on the school, along with traps they would help him lay would keep the object safe. They were truly curious what it was, but they had all agreed not to ask. If it was important enough to need all these protections, then the fewer in the know the better. They would trust him to tell them if it became dangerous. None of that, however, prepared them for just who the cover student had been.

"Ah, Hagrid. How was your time with young Harry?" Albus asked Hagrid cheerfully, ignoring the sudden interest from his colleagues.

Hagrid paused before answering, trying to decide where to start. “Harry… well. His aunt and uncle are rather unpleasant examples of muggles. They made sure that Harry didn’t receive his letter - that’s why he never replied - and they tried to prevent me from handing it to him. They never told him about magic and were angry that I mentioned it at all. The uncle tried to drive me off with a gun. They didn’t want Harry to attend Hogwarts and tried to tell him that he couldn’t go. The aunt talked poorly about her sister, Lily, and called her and all magicals freaks.”

Hagrid took a moment to gather himself, ignoring the reactions around him, before continuing, “It seemed, however, that the other boy was excited by the existence of magic. There was no fear and hate like in his parents. Harry, himself, didn’t really react to the existence of magic. Maybe shock, maybe he had guessed something like that. He was more interested in what I could tell him about his parents. I can only guess that the aunt never said anything because of her opinions on magic.”

Hagrid paused again, hesitating. He didn’t like being the bearer of bad news, but they needed to know. “I … Harry is sick. Very sick. He said it was something to do with his lungs. He kept having coughing fits, but he would wave off any concern I showed. I guessed that he was uncomfortable talking about it, though his cousin seemed frustrated with his avoidance. It might just have been my status as a stranger. His cousin also asked if magic could do anything to help him. Apparently, the aunt and uncle didn’t want to ‘waste money taking the freak to the healers’.”

Silence reigned after Hagrid’s report. They were all stunned. The Heads of House hadn’t realized the cover student was Harry Potter of all children. That wasn’t even touching the implications behind that last statement.

“He’s sick?” Albus finally asked, ignoring the incredulous snort from Snape. The man had issues with objectivity concerning anyone with the name Potter.

“Very.” Hagrid affirmed, wishing it was anything but the truth. “During the trip through Diagon, we had to stop several times while he had a coughing fit and couldn’t continue for several minutes.” Hagrid sighed, looking like he was about to cry, he had grown attached during the trip to Diagon and he hated seeing Harry struggle. “Do you think that Madame Pomfrey could take a look once the school year starts?”

“Of course, Hagrid.”

Hagrid left, then, needing to get away from the heavy atmosphere of the office. He left behind an office full of people that suddenly had a lot to think about.

Once he had left, Albus cringed. Looking over at McGonagall, he saw that she had caught the unsaid conclusion that Hagrid had come to. Harry’s home life was less than pleasant, and Albus was at least partially responsible as the one to place him there ignoring her concerns. She was glaring at him and was obviously gearing up for a no-doubt inspiring lecture. Albus was saved for the moment, however, when Snape decided to add his two cents.

“I bet that Potter was faking it. There is no way that his relatives treated him as anything less than a prince. He was just looking for a gullible fool to trick; he’s nothing but an attention seeking…”

Snape trailed off when McGonagall’s glare was transferred to him. That particular glare only came out in defense of her own and he had enough survival instincts to avoid digging his hole deeper.

At this point, Flitwick and Sprout wisely decided the best course of action was to retreat before she exploded. Over the next hour, Snape was reminded of just why McGonagall was feared. Not even the Headmaster escaped her scathing tongue lashing.

\- Chapter End -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will continue to edit the chapters as I post new ones, please check the list for the newest date to see if I have changed anything since you read it last. Please let me know if any problems or odd phrasing stand out and I will fix it as I have time. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit List:  
> -February 28, 2018  
> -December 27, 2018


	4. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dead come to visit...
> 
> Jūshiro sees some friendly faces and begins to explain what he knows of his situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this is not an original idea. I adopted this from Mitsukini Haninozuka who in turn got it from TheBlackSeaReaper. This is my first story, as well, so any feedback would be very much appreciated. Let me know what you think, please!

### 

Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Two weeks had gone by since Jūshiro visited Diagon Alley. He had had time to process his newfound fame, the truth behind his parents’ death and the knowledge of yet another hidden world. He wondered how it was kept hidden. If the people he had seen in Diagon Alley were any example, then he doubted that they could blend in well enough in the wider world. Maybe they had some sort of device, or spell, that changed memories like the soul society had? Something to consider, at least, he wanted to know if there were limitations and how to guard against the unscrupulous.

Jūshiro had also decided to simply ignore his fame, if it ever came up. He wasn’t comfortable with the reasons behind it but given the mob that had descended before he entered Diagon Alley, he doubted he could do anything about it. The public probably had some sort of image of him (the Harry Potter adventure books at Flourish and Blotts were terrifying to see) and he could do little to change their minds. He refused, however, to change himself to match their image of who Harry Potter should be and that was one thing that he would never bend on.

The truth of his parents’ death had been a surprise. The Dursley's had refused to talk about them, so all he had known was that they were dead. It hadn’t been a priority to find out, so Jūshiro hadn’t pushed. At least, he now knew the truth as well as just why the elder Dursley’s couldn’t stand him - magic. Their interactions since the great reveal had been even more frosty than usual. Jūshiro just counted himself lucky that they hadn’t kicked him out entirely and mostly avoided him instead. It did however, make him wonder once again just why they kept a child they hated.

His cousin, Dudley, on the other hand was ecstatic and so very excited for him. He had borrowed just about all Jūshiro’s new books by now, eager to learn all he could about magic although he couldn’t use it. He wanted to know what Jūshiro would eventually be able to do. He had also shared with Jūshiro his hope that the magical world would finally have the cure for his disease.

Presently, he was lying in bed, recovering from one of his coughing fits and reading the books bought during his trip to Diagon Ally. He was reading one of his school books for charms, having fun learning what sort of spells the first years were expected to learn. At first, he had compared magic to the Kido that was taught in Soul Society, a discipline in which he was very skilled, but had soon realized that magic as these people understood it was a far more flexible and occasionally convenient energy.

\------------

So absorbed in his reading, it took Jūshiro a moment to realize that he was feeling some very familiar soul-signatures nearby. He wondered what that particular group was doing here, for he had not felt any hollows nearby, nor indeed anything that might have required the attention of the three strongest captains in Soul Society. The signatures he felt nearby in the neighborhood were that of Shunsui Kyouraku, Retsu Unohana and Genryusai Yamamoto. Before the war just over a decade before, the war in which he had died, Captain-Commander Yamamoto had not left the Soul Society for centuries.

‘It can’t be… Could they be here for me? They have no way of knowing whether I remember anything…’

Much to his surprise, the signatures continued up the road, stopping just before the Dursleys’ home. Taking a moment to be thankful that Vernon had taken the rest of the family on an outing to London for the day, Jūshiro climbed out of bed. Peeking out his window, Jūshiro confirmed that they really were coming up the walk. They had come for him, regardless of memories. He took a moment to just take in their appearance, grateful that they were alive and well. He had died after all, in the middle of a war, and he had no idea what happened after his death. He had tried not to think on it too much, knowing he would just worry himself into an early grave since he had no way of checking up on them.

Jūshiro shook himself out of his memories, noticing that they had almost made it to the porch. Composing himself, Jūshiro made his way down the stairs. He had just made it when the doorbell rang.

\------------

**(In Soul Society)**

**[Shunsui’s POV]**

It had been a long two weeks. After Yama-jii had dropped the bombshell about Jūshiro’s soul-signature showing up on the sensors and announced his intention to hunt down the reincarnation of my brother, I had been wandering about in a daze. It wasn’t real, yet, not really. I probably wouldn’t be able to believe it completely until I could feel the presence of my brother again. He wouldn’t be the same, but the soul would be there. Maybe it would be enough and I could finally move on?

I had spent a long decade, trying to adjust to the death of my brother - to his absence in our lives. We all felt guilty - should have been faster, stronger, better!... - and none of us could bring ourselves to blame another. Those present at the fateful battle had all been busy, we had all been fighting our own opponents, and there had been no indication that Aizen would do anything but watch as we struggled against his forces. He had seemed content to watch and wait behind the flames as the Arrancar fought us. We were wrong. And Jūshiro paid the price.

I had to watch as the light faded from his eyes, unable to help, occupied as I was with the Primera Espada, Starrk. Turning as I dealt the final blow to the Arrancar, I was just in time to see Aizen escape the flames. Just in time to see him skewer the already gravely injured form of my brother. Just in time to see him fall.

The weeks after the news had been akin to torture. I wanted to see him, needed to see him. We had meant to set out in only a couple of days, but the Captain-Commander along with two of the strongest remaining captains couldn’t leave on such short notice, no matter how much we wished we could. For one thing, the usual limiters would not work and ones suitable for our strength had to be made. Then, we had to set up our respective seconds-in-command well enough that they could handle our absence for a week or two. That alone required enough paperwork to last the next several months. Yama-jii had to reassure everyone that they could, in fact, handle his absence. His lack of vacation over the centuries meant that for all but the old guard he had always been there. Those of us that counted as the old guard remembered the times that he had taken for himself, and so could deal.

When we finally pulled the Soul Society together enough and finished our preparations, it had been two weeks instead of two days. Gathering near the main Senkaimon, we rechecked that we had what we needed: the coordinates of the Soul-signature and the standard gear of any Shinigami out on patrol (limiters, communications, memory modifiers…). Finally, we could leave. I urged Yama-jii to hurry and open the Senkaimon, anxious to get on our way. He did so, and we stepped out into the space between the worlds. He must have been as eager as I, for we ended up flash-stepping through.

When we emerged on the other side, we found ourselves in an English neighborhood. We were near a park, but there were few children in it. We had arrived at noon, as we had intended. Our usual dealings were with Japan, so we had synced our time with that country many years ago. For this trip, we had to time ourselves carefully so that we didn’t arrive at an odd hour.

Stretching our senses, we finally found it - the presence of Jūshiro. Heading toward it, we saw a row of houses that were nearly identical, and all very well cared for. The house that Jūshiro was in seemed to have the best front yard on the street, almost professional in its appearance. Glancing up as we neared the door, I noticed movement in one of the windows. Turning my attention forward, I looked on as Yama-jii rang the doorbell, fairly bouncing on my heels with anticipation.

After a moment, the door opened. Slowly, oh so slowly it seemed, when a head popped out into view from behind it. It was Jūshiro. Or rather, it was the new body housing my brother’s soul. He was young, it was the first thing I noticed and something that hadn’t really occurred to me. He had only died a decade or so before, so it made sense, but I had grown up with the previous version of Jūshiro. I had become used to thinking of my brother as an adult, so seeing him as a child was shocking. He was a small boy, with long black hair and startling green eyes hidden behind large glasses. There was a large angry looking scar on his forehead, something that scared me since he had already found himself in danger, but what caught my immediate worry was how run down he looked. At that age, a human child should be full of unending energy not holding himself gingerly and calmly standing there, waiting to be acknowledged. Something was wrong. But what?

**[Yamamoto’s POV]**

Yamamoto was tired. His many centuries of life had given him great patience, but the duties of the head captain of the Seireitei were many. He had been in power so long that he had watched several generations of captains cycle through the squads. Unfortunately, this meant that he had become an immortal figure to these younger Shinigami. He had not taken a vacation of any length in so long, that the newest generations had no idea how to handle themselves without the safety net of his presence. Something he decided that he would rectify at some point in the near future. However, this meant that the preparations for his absence dragged on. What should have taken only a couple of days ended up taking a couple of weeks. The paperwork had been the least of his worries, still, it was time. He and his companions had finished what they needed and so they convened at the Senkaimon, the gates to the passageway between worlds.

Yamamoto looked over his companions, noting the tells in their bearings, signs showing their worry and suppressed hope to those who knew how to read them. He, too, was anxious. They had no idea what sort of situation they would be going into, after all. It was unlikely to be anything dangerous, but with the presence of a former captain in the area hollows were a valid concern. He refused to acknowledge the other worry, that his missing son would not remember them or even see them and that this trip was for naught.

Yamamoto was amused by the restless shifting of his other son, Shunsui. It was good to see him showing emotions. With how poorly he had dealt with Jūshiro’s death, Yamamoto had been worried for him. ‘I can only hope this mission goes well, if only for his sake.’ He refused to contemplate the alternative.

At Shunsui’s urging, Yamamoto reached out and opened the Senkaimon. Stepping into the space between worlds, he gave in to his nervous energy and flash stepped through, trusting that Retsu and Shunsui would keep pace as he rushed to the other side.

**[Unohana’s POV]**

Although she wouldn’t admit it to anyone who asked, Retsu was worried.

She had spent several millennia tending to Jūshiro, plenty of time to have become good friends with him. He was old enough to know of her own sordid past, and in turn she was old enough to have been present when he needed to show his resolve as a member of the Gotei 13. They, all of them, had parts of their past they weren’t proud of. Pieces of themselves that the younger generations simply didn’t know about.

When she decided to leave her past behind her, she had resolved to do what she could as a healer for the inhabitants of the Seireitei. Despite her many medical triumphs, however, Jūshiro’s illness had fought her at every turn. She had managed to mitigate his symptoms over the years, reducing the length and frequency of his coughing fits. Still, it had bothered her that she could not do more for him.

She had watched the Seireitei in the wake of his death, unable once more to help. Wounds brought about by loss were not something so simply fixed. And it was far more difficult when the healer themselves were suffering the same loss. He was a confidant of hers, they had had weekly meetings over tea where they would sit and talk and complain about their daily lives. It had calmed the two of them, this friendship, and she had suffered for the loss of it. It had not mattered that it was never more than friendship. They had long ago decided that anything more was not a direction they were interested in with the other.

This trip to the living world to check on Jūshiro’s reincarnation was cause for great worry in her opinion. She knew just how likely it was that his reincarnation would remember them at all, and she dreaded the reactions of the captain-commander and Shunsui should that turn out to be the case. For all that she had suffered the loss of a dear friend, they had lost a brother or son, and the loss of a family member never truly faded.

As they approached the Senkaimon, Retsu steeled herself, aware that should the worst happen, she would need to steer the two men back to the Seireitei – likely against their own wishes. Retsu found her worries validated when even the captain-commander could not wait the short walk to the other side of the path, and instead flash-stepped through the Senkaimon.

**[Yamamoto’s POV]**

Arriving in England with little fanfare, Yamamoto was relived to see that they had timed their trip well. While arranging the trip he had had to take into account the significant time difference between the two locales.

When he had founded the Seireitei all those years ago, he had chosen to sync its time with the location of the jūreichi – a location where the earth’s own spiritual energy poured forth, calling multitudes of stronger hollows and creating the highest concentration of spiritual beings in the human world.

For most of the time since the founding of Soul Society, the jūreichi had resided in Japan, meaning that the Soul Society had likewise been based on their time and relatively closer to that area of the living world. This meant that even though travelling through a Senkaimon by definition meant crossing both time and space, it was in fact a shorter distance to Japan than the rest of the world. Being able to mobilize quickly had been invaluable over the years, not the least of which during the latest mess with the traitorous captains led by Aizen.

Upon reaching Surrey, Yamamoto was pleased to note that they had arrived at midday like he had intended, reasoning that the summer months and time of day would mean that most were home eating lunch. He had chosen this time for the smaller amount of people that would be out and about, while still being within the polite calling hours. If the group had to deal with the new family of his son, then Yamamoto would rather ensure that there were no unfortunate first impressions.

Stretching out his senses, Yamamoto oriented himself in the direction of his wayward son’s soul-signature, pleased to find it nearby. Glancing at his companions to see if they had also found the soul-signature, he set off in its direction.

As they drew closer, Yamamoto noted that they were passing into a neighborhood of bland and nearly identical houses. A typical neighborhood, to be sure, but it had a stressed feel to it. It seemed to lack something, something that he couldn’t quite grasp. This feeling of not quite unease grew as he noticed that the yards were all cared for most stringently, not a bush or tree out of place. Not a single plant was allowed to hang over the sidewalk or into another yard.

**(Little Whinging)**

**[Jūshiro’s POV]**

Staring at the door, the only thing separating him from his father-figure, brother and long-time friend, Jūshiro was torn. He wanted, oh how he wanted, to see them again. Still, the last time he had seen them it was war. He dreaded what news they could bring. Taking a second to fortify himself, Jūshiro reached for the door.

Opening the door, Jūshiro gazed upon his family for the first time in ten years. They look tired. His first sight of them was how worn they seemed. The four of them, including himself, were very old, even by the standards of a Shinigami, but even then, only rarely would they express how tired they were. Only at the loss of great comrades and dear friends would the façade of youth falter. It occurs to Jūshiro that maybe they hadn’t known that he was reborn, let alone in possession of his memories. For them, they truly had lost another member of their family. What a long decade it must have been for them.

“Captain-Commander. Captain Unohana. Shunsui. It is so very good to see you again. Please come in so that we can speak freely.” Jūshiro wanted nothing more than to jump at his brother and hang on for dear life. Out-of-character it would be for him, but it had been a long decade for him, too. His life at the Dursley’s had been trying despite Dudley’s best efforts and he had been forced to deal with everything without the support of his family. Turning away, forcing himself to maintain his composure while privacy was not a guarantee, Jūshiro led Yamamoto, Retsu and Shunsui into the house and towards the living room.

Once they were seated, they all looked at each other. No one knew where to start. Finally, it seemed that Shunsui could take it no more. “Jūshiro, I’m sorry. So very sorry. I let you be killed. I couldn’t save you from Aizen,” the name was hissed with a depth of loathing that surprised me, though the thought of our positions reversed was enough to explain it, “I couldn’t even save you from Starrk’s companion. Forgive me, brother?” eyes averted, his voice clearly told me he blamed himself for my death. Though he had asked for forgiveness, he remained distant as if he thought I wouldn’t give it, as if he thought I would condemn him for his failure. He can’t…He can’t truly believe I would shun him for what happened! Jūshiro couldn’t believe it. During their long years of life, there had been many times that they had been injured. Sometimes almost lethally so. They had always reassured one another that these injuries were to be expected in their line of work, and that they would never be responsible for the injuries of the other when separated in battle. Long-term experience with each other’s abilities meant they knew their limits and knew to respect them. What could have chang-…oh. I actually died this time. We’ve always pulled through before.

The silence during my thoughts were too much, it seemed. As I watched, what little expression he had been showing slowly vanished behind a mask of unfeeling.

“Dammit, Shunsui. You can’t blame yourself for my death. I forgive you for thinking my illness wouldn’t choose the worst moment to act up. I forgive you for knowing that the girl was well-within my abilities to deal with. I forgive you for not tracking a madman we couldn’t understand during a battle he did not seem inclined to participate in. I forgive you Shunsui, for not being omniscient. I can’t forgive you for my death, because you. did. Not. Cause. It!” My tirade over with, I collapsed exhausted back into my chair, having leaned forward to add strength to the diatribe. During my speech, I had watched Shunsui cringe into as small an area as he could. Finally, he looks up at meets my eyes.

“Oh Jūshiro. I’ve missed you so much. Nobody around to set my head straight while we thought you dead. I’ve been in a sorry state for a while.” He says with a watery sounding chuckle and tears in his eyes. “It’s good to have you back.”

Understatement of the century, it seems. Shunsui didn’t hold up well at all, did he. But if he was this poorly off, what of the others? I look to the two captains sitting quietly and watching our reunion. I wonder what they think of two fools such as we are. “Hello again, sir, Captain Unohana…” I trailed off, uncertain how to continue. I wanted to know how everyone was: who was hurt, who was lost and how everyone was carrying on.

“My son. You live, again. And you remember us well enough to greet us. Do you remember your past?” the Captain-Commander greeted me, his question a weighty thing between us. They had come into the Dursley’s house on my welcome, but they couldn’t know that I had more than fragments of memory to work with.

“I do. I remember the young dragon and his ambitions. I remember the bonds of choice forged between two younglings, still learning who they were. I remember the finding of a home with the dragon and the start of a duty and a passion for it. I remember myself as I was, before and am now. I am Jūshiro Ukitake, wielder of Sōgyo no Kotowari.” Reminiscing of our younger days, all those years ago had me pensive. So few of us remained, and even I could no longer count as one who had. I had died, after all, I was just lucky enough that it was a temporary thing.

“Then I welcome you back. How have you been this past decade? Tell me of your life, we have much to share with you as well.” Settling in his chair, the Captain-Commander seemed to relax for the first time in a long time. A weight had lifted from his shoulders at the knowledge that his son had been returned to him in full. One loss that had not remained so.

Jūshiro organized his thoughts knowing that he had a long afternoon ahead of him, describing his life for the past decade. Wondering what sort of news they could have, he started his story: “I was born again as an only child to a young couple by the names of James Potter and Lily Evans. I was given the name Harry Potter and I recently learned that this couple was a member of an extraordinary group of individuals. They have the ability to make use of an energy to do incredible feats, an energy they call magic…” I explained all that I had learned from my newly purchased books about magic and its capabilities. The laws of nature it seemed to break, and those it held to most stringently. I could not do much more than summarize the various branches of magic, for the introductory books that I had bought did not hold much information. Nonetheless, I gave them the impressions I had had concerning magic and my comparisons between it and kido.

“I have lived with the Dursley family for the past decade, the mother is my maternal aunt. I was not always aware of my dual life. I did not… awaken, one might say, until after my first birthday. I do not know the circumstances, but I do know that it resulted in the death of my parents. This incident from before I can remember is also responsible for the scar on my face as well, or so I can only infer, as it has been there for as long as I have been aware. The parents do not appreciate my presence, but my cousin has become a good friend during my stay.”

Pausing for breath, I pondered how to say the next bit. “This society of magic users was in the middle of a war during the years surrounding my birth. There was a madman, in charge of a group of like-minded individuals that had taken to terrorizing the rest of the population. They called themselves the Death Eaters and they followed a man known as Lord Voldemort, a man referred to as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. This man attacked and killed my parents and apparently gave me this scar.

“The magical society has very detailed ideas about what happened that night, and they have styled me as some sort a savior from on high since he disappeared after killing my parents and supposedly trying to kill me. How they would know anything about that night escapes me, but these people believe that I survived a spell of instant death at the age of one years old – and that I happened to vanquish their madmen at the same time. I am known among their community as the boy-who-lived for surviving this spell. I remember none of this and only awoke later. I do not know how much time elapsed between this incident and my arrival to the hospitality of the Dursleys’.”

Wanting to give them time to process the information I had dumped on them, I stood up to head to the kitchen, intent on retrieving the makings of tea and some snacks to eat.

\- Chapter End -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will continue to edit the chapters as I post new ones, please check the list for the newest date to see if I have changed anything since you read it last. Please let me know if any problems or odd phrasing stand out and I will fix it as I have time. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit List:  
> -December 27, 2018: chapter published  
> -July 06, 2019: some typos fixed


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